


Homemade Cookies

by rockthecliche



Category: Johnny's Entertainment, NewS (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-03
Updated: 2012-02-03
Packaged: 2017-10-30 13:31:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/332261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rockthecliche/pseuds/rockthecliche
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryo hates luggage mix-ups slightly less now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Homemade Cookies

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Pippa and Katie, who gave me the pairing and "hats, gloves, scarves" as a prompt. No hats, gloves, or scarves were even mentioned, but hoodies are!

He opens his suitcase to find that it's not his. It looks, feels, and certainly is styled just like his, but it's not.

Ryo groans. Just his fucking luck, right? As if spending the past three weeks of his fucking life being shuffled around the fucking globe wasn't bad enough, but the last thing he really wants is to have to deal with incompetent airline employees who, undoubtedly, will have no clue where his suitcase is.

And the airline employees _really_ have no idea where his suitcase is, and all the information they have available to tell him is that there are no leftover baggage, and nothing was reported to have been left behind anywhere. Ryo calmly says thank you and hangs up, and then stares at the suitcase as if it's the most offensive thing in the world.

It's not. It's a stylish suitcase because Ryo has taste and class, but the contents...

The contents...

Ryo couldn't mismatch more unless he was blindfolded with his hands tied behind his back, and even then he has his doubts. There's the usual -- there are shirts and jeans and sneakers, but then there are things like weirdly oversized hoodie-poncho contraptions, or flimsy pants with the crotch down at the knee, and some of the sneakers are so brightly colored and decorated that he doesn't know how anyone could match them to anything.

This kid must be from Hawaii.

Which, well, makes things even _worse_ because Ryo's clothing is expensive, damnit. His nice suits and dress shirts and ties from his parents and -- oh fuck, not to mention the chocolate covered pineapple slices that his sister liked so much, they were in there too.

He spends the rest of the evening cleaning the apartment a bit, making dinner and then sitting himself in front of his TV, eager to actually watch television for the first time in three weeks. It's not like there wasn't TV abroad, but it tends to be more fun when you can understand what the hell is going on.

He passes out in front of his TV and while it's not the most comfortable position in the world, he sleeps the best he's had in weeks.

 

Two weeks later, when he has found absolutely no clue on who has his fucking suitcase at all, he spends a night painstakingly taking everything out of the suitcase he currently has and plans on using it anyway. He doesn't really know what to do with the excess clothing that clearly isn't his, but he keeps it stacked in the corner of his closet. Maybe his brothers will like it or something.

Except for one hoodie in particular. It's way too big on him and the sleeves extend past his fingers, but it's comfortable and the least eye-offensive thing in there. It's still a deep fuschia, but beggars can't be choosers, after all. Plus, it smells nice, like homemade cookies with a citrus zest, and it ends up being his favorite 'around the house' sweatshirt.

 

"Um," says an uncertain voice loitering by the doorway to his office. Ryo looks up, sees someone he has never met in his life and wonders just how the hell he wound up there. He would have to have a talk with Kato about letting the riffraff in when he was up to his ears in work.

Then Ryo spots the suitcase in the kid's hand. _Ryo's_ suitcase. Ryo's suitcase, the one he gave up on ever trying to find.

"My suitcase!" Ryo exclaims. The kid jumps a little in surprise, and Ryo takes the time to look him up and down and he thinks that if he spent five seconds to actually _look_ at him first, it might have clicked in his head. The kid was dressed to the downs in purple and pink offset with greys, a combination that shouldn't have a place in society, but he made it work somehow. Ryo had to give credit where credit was due.

"Yeah, I guess -- I saw the wrong one and just grabbed it?" Ryo jumps up from his desk and reaches out, taking the suitcase from the other's hand. He drops it onto the floor and opens it up, and sure enough, there were all his suits and ties and dress shirts. Funny -- he doesn't remember them being folded so neatly, though.

"What the hell took you so long?" Ryo asks, even though he's sure he could have sped up the reunion process.

"I just decided to start using the suitcase as my own, but then I found a business card of yours inside one of the shirt pockets," a calm, gentle voice explains. "It had the address here and your name, so I just...decided to come by and return it to you." There's a pause and Ryo looks up from inspecting all of his clothing and is met with a bit of a smile, small but completely sincere. It makes him feel at ease, somewhat.

"Oh, sorry," Ryo says. "I'm Nishikido Ryo."

"I know," the man -- man? He was far too young and boyish looking to be a man, right? -- replies, extending a hand. "I'm Masuda Takahisa. And I'm really glad that the suitcase was yours, and not some guy who happened to have your businesscard."

 

Ryo takes the rest of the day off -- he's glad he's the boss for things like this; the perks are superb! -- and takes Masuda back to his apartment so he can return the other's suitcase and things. The trip isn't uncomfortable, even though Ryo hardly ever likes meeting new people, but Masuda is so...so average and normal and attends the university just a couple blocks away from Ryo's apartment, and they chit-chat about their neighborhood and Masuda's enthusiasm in regards to gyoza houses is something to be admired. There's just something about Masuda that's comforting.

Like homemade cookies.

He unlocks and opens his door and his apartment's clutter is evident, but Ryo just doesn't have the time to clean. "Sorry about the mess," Ryo apologizes, kicking aside several pairs of shoes he has by the door.

"That's all right, it's...I mean, I can't stay for long," Masuda replies, gingerly stepping around shoes and various other things. "I have class in an hour."

Ryo thinks that it's kind of dumb that he's taking the suitcase with him, dragging it across campus and rolling it around his classrooms, but hey, to each his own.

They enter the bedroom and Ryo immediately drops his suitcase onto the bed, then opens his closet and retrieves the stack of clothing he stowed away in there last week. When he turns back around, Masuda has Ryo's favorite hoodie -- no, _his_ potential favorite hoodie in his hands.

"I've been wearing it," Ryo blurts out and for absolutely no _fucking_ reason why, because that's creepy and the last thing Ryo wants to be in any remote sense is creepy, even to this kid who he's probably never going to see ever again.

"You have?" Masuda answers, looking at Ryo. Ryo's sure his face is probably the color of a tomato as he drops the clothing in his hands onto the bed.

"Uh. Yeah. Sorry?" Ryo supplies, walking around Masuda to retrieve the suitcase he stowed away in the corner of his room. He rolls it over to Masuda with a good powered shove and does everything in his power to ignore the abject humiliation creeping up his neck. He watches him put the hoodie down and catch the suitcase instead, nimble fingers working to undo the zipper. He looks somewhat forlorn at the disarray his clothes are in and Ryo almost feels sorry until he remembers that it's not his fault they switched suitcases and hell, he should be happy Ryo even kept the clothing to begin with.

"I'm glad you found a good use for it instead of just stowing it away," Masuda says, cutting into Ryo's thoughts. Ryo snaps to attention; Masuda is gingerly, diligently folding all his clothing and placing them carefully into the suitcase. "But I'd like it back, if that's all right?"

"...are you asking permission to get your own clothing back?" Ryo asks, although his first instinct is a reactive _no, you can't have it back, it's the best hoodie ever_.

Masuda laughs, accompanied by a nonchalant shrug. "I guess so." They both fall silent and the hoodie is the last thing Masuda packs up and Ryo is quite convinced that this kid, _this brat_ just did it on purpose because -- well, because Ryo can't have his hoodie anymore. And would be quite sad about it if he didn't think the notion was ri-fucking-diculous. It's just a hoodie.

A hoodie that still smells like homemade cookies, a bit.

Masuda's done packing; Ryo leads him out, thanking him for finally returning all his stuff. Masuda makes a joke about having the right suitcase that kind of falls flat, and the air is awkward when Masuda waves, thanks him again, and Ryo shuts the door when he hears the suitcase rolling away.

Well. That's that.

Ryo spends the rest of the afternoon obsessively cleaning his apartment and does his laundry, trying not to think about the kid who now has his favorite hoodie that wasn't even his. The smell of fresh linen always used to comfort him.

 

"Here."

Ryo stares at the outstretched hand and is having some difficulty understanding just what is going on here. The kid -- Masuda, Ryo remembers, even though it's been a week -- is standing at his door and giving him something. Something Ryo vaguely remembers as being comfortable and worn and quite oversized, but perfect for lazing around the house.

"Wait, what," Ryo says. "What?"

"You can keep it," Masuda says, dangling the hoodie hanging in between them and Ryo's first thought is to wonder if it smells like cookies.

You know, the homemade kind.

"I'm not taking your hoodie, what is this?" Ryo asks, his defensive nature getting the best of him, even though he _wants_ to take it, take it and keep it until the last thread breaks.

Masuda shrugs. "I just thought it was kind of weird that out of all my clothing, you wore this one but kept the others in the closet." His arm lowers. "So I figured that you liked it."

Ryo would have stopped to consider that this was very awkward -- if, you know, he wasn't too busy reaching out and grabbing the thing and taking it for his own. He doesn't say anything, just kind of stares at the fabric in his hand -- Masuda fidgets and clears his throat and Ryo is kind of glad that someone else doesn't really know what to do, either, and they were merely just going with what their minds told them to do.

"I guess I should get going. But um, thanks for my suitcase back and everything." He starts, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I'll see you around."

"Hey," Ryo blurts out. He needs to get that habit of his fixed or something, because it tends to get him into trouble when weird strangers with a habit of wearing ponchos in flourescent colors are involved. "Do you want to come in? I've -- uh, I mean, if you're not busy, and I was going to order takeout, and -- uh. You can join me if you want to?"

Masuda lights up. Ryo steps aside and lets him in, kicking shoes aside again, and as Masuda makes himself at home, Ryo sneaks off to his bedroom and changes out of his work clothes, tossing the hoodie on. He breathes in the scent for a few moments before he heads out into the living room, fully intent on a night of mindless TV, takeout, and pleasant company.

 

In due time, Ryo realizes that it's not just the hoodie that smells like cookies, but it's Masuda as a whole; his hair has an extra touch of lemon for the times when Masuda back-sasses him, his skin has a subtle layer of spicy cinnamon for the times when he needs the extra drive to finish coursework, and his kisses taste more like gingerbread than the average cookie, but the cookies are always there, and that, in itself, is comforting and familiar nonetheless.


End file.
